Last
by Death-Cry
Summary: One thirty-three PM. Monday. Domino High. My name is Ryou Bakura. I am fifteen years old. I pull the gun from my pocket.
1. Two days ago

*Ryou Bakura's POV*  
  
That stupid school clock. Always there to torment me in this classroom. Leering from its perch on the cinderblock wall. The minute hand jumps closer and closer to one thirty-three PM. So very close, now. So very close.  
  
"Bakura? You feelin' alright?" The voice snaps me out of the hypnotic arc of the second hand. It's Joey Wheeler. Should I answer him? What would I say? No Joey, I'm not okay. If anyone ever knew me, they would know that I AM DEFINITELY NOT OKAY. Especially not today. Not now.  
  
"Hm? Oh, hi Joey. Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" Tell me Joey. Tell me. Stop me from doing what I am about to do. Tell me I look awful. That I look like I haven't been sleeping for the last two days. That I haven't smiled in a month. Tell me.  
  
"Oh," Joey broke into a wide grin, "s'nothin'. You looked real intense, staring at the clock like dat."  
  
Too late. Lost your chance.  
  
"Actually, Bakura, you look sort of out of it. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"  
  
I turn.  
  
"Hello Yugi. And yes, I'm sure." I can hear myself saying in a calm pleasant voice. My eyes plead with the violet pupils that stare at me concerned. Can you hear me Yugi? Have you ever been able to hear me? Can you make out the lie? Can you stop me? Can anyone?  
  
"How's Yami Bakura doing?" I stare at Yugi incredulously as he asks me this. I didn't know "the gang" was more interested in my yami than me. Quickly, Yugi adds, "Yami wants to know if he can duel him sometime this week."  
  
"Oh- he's doing okay. I guess." I answer quietly so the other students would not hear. The teacher had left to the bathroom and the kids were fooling around like there was no tomorrow. If only they knew. . . my eyes glance to the clock. It's one twenty-six. In order to lessen the fear starting to take hold of me, I mull over my answer. Was Yami Bakura doing okay?  
  
Uh-huh. Sure. He didn't seem too okay when I pushed him down the basement stairs and shoved his unconscious body into the washing machine. I must admit, I was rather proud of being able to stop the infamous Tomb-Robber. Even if he had never really harmed me, as Yugi and the gang had thought. I overheard them once worrying that my yami abused me. I could laugh. The worst I had ever gotten from him was a couple of insults. Sticks and stones. Of course, there was the whole mind control thing a couple months back, but he was better now. He even listens when I talk to him. Most of the time anyway. Which made me feel a little guilty for shoving the dryer on top of the washing machine door. The fact that he was warming to me did not explain why I was about to do what I was about to do.  
  
Partly, his presence encouraged me to go through with what I had planned to do since two days ago. I did not want to face him again. I would not return home. I did not want to die by his hand. And luck seemed to be on my side for once, the bond between us was still fuzzy, which meant that my yami was still unconscious. Fortune has a dark sense of humor.  
  
Wincing inwardly, I remember my dark side's outburst that morning. He had discovered my plans and shook me out of bed. Then he proceeded to scream phrases at me, like "What the hell were you thinking???" and "I can't believe you, of all people!" and other such nonsense. I think that he thought I wasn't being serious. Maybe he even thought it was all just some joke. That's probably why he looked so surprised when I shoved him down the stairs. The last time I will ever look into my other half's eyes will be remembered as a look of betrayal.  
  
Betrayal.  
  
Oh God. Why am I here anyway? Why couldn't I do this quietly? Alone?  
  
Why? Because I wanted to go out with flair. I didn't want to be remembered as some silent nobody. I did not want people to think of me as the tragic loss to be a lesson to others. I wanted people to know my name. I wanted them to feel pain as I had. I wanted to taste my fear. Just experience it. I wasn't going to hurt anyone. Not for real. Life was a game, as Yami would say. I just got tired of playing.  
  
I fingered my jacket pocket. The gun was there, waiting, ready. I had purchased it two nights ago and hid it at the bottom of a drawer. Two nights ago, I had planned this all out. To the last detail. Another quick glance at the clock, one thirty exactly.  
  
Three more minutes. Three more minutes.  
  
I can't do this. I shouldn't be doing this. I can't-  
  
But I am. I can't turn back now. In too far. Gone too long.  
  
Two days ago. Just two days ago at one thirty-three PM. What drove me to the edge.  
  
Let all your demons out, or they will consume you. I wonder who said that.  
  
The seconds tick by. Tick by.  
  
Now, I'll never find out.  
  
One thirty-one.  
  
Two more minutes. Two days ago. Too far gone. Too deep to wade.  
  
Again, Joey interrupts my thoughts. "Hey, Bakura! Wanna come to a little get-together at Yug's place? C'mon, you gotta come. The rest of the gang's goin'"  
  
"Joey." I speak the word. Slowly. Tasting it for the last time. "I can't go."  
  
"Why not?" his happy demeanor deflates.  
  
"I'm sorry." I whisper as I look over his head at the clock. One thirty- two.  
  
"I'm so sorry." I can't help it. I feel like crying. Thirty more seconds.  
  
Joey panics as he sees a tear rolling down my cheek. "Hey, Bakura, I didn't mean- I mean, its okay if-" He flusters on, babbling an apology I can't hear.  
  
One final look at the clock.  
  
It's time.  
  
One thirty-three PM. Monday. Domino High.  
  
My name is Ryou Bakura.  
  
I am fifteen years old.  
  
I pull the gun from my pocket. It's warm and bitterly hard. I lift it, aiming for Joey's face. My thumb takes off the safety with a loud click.  
  
It takes a while for the room to notice. Longer than one would expect.  
  
"Bakura?" Yugi was on the other end of the room, and I heard his light footsteps heading towards me.  
  
I don't dare look at his lavender eyes. I don't want to see his realization that the Bakura he once knew, is dead. "Bakura, what are you doing?"  
  
His voice isn't angry. It isn't even sad. It's pitying.  
  
It's humiliating.  
  
Joey looks from me to the gun. Maybe he's hoping I'll lower the thing and laugh that it was all a joke, and oh- you should have seen your face!  
  
The whole class is in shock. I guess they didn't expect shy, angelic Ryou to pull a stunt like this. Joey doesn't move. Good. I had hoped he wouldn't.  
  
"Don't take one more step Yugi." I myself am surprised to how harsh my voice sounds. So cold. So distant. I'm a star about to explode. Go out with flair.  
  
I hear his footsteps stop. "Yami Bakura?" Yugi asks fearfully in an agonizingly innocent voice.  
  
I shake my head. For the first time in weeks I smiled. The smile didn't feel like it was my own. It did not fit on my face and was uncomfortable to hold. A low laugh escapes me. The harsh grating chuckle sounds remarkably like my yami.  
  
"No, Yugi." I say a little above a whisper, "He's not here. It's just me. Just me."  
  
I raise my voice to the teacher-less class. "Everyone. Please, sit down. In your respective seats."  
  
I glance around as the class slowly lowers themselves into the plastic chairs.  
  
"Thank you." My voice, I don't recognize. "This is a real gun. So I recommend that no one tries any heroics." I turn to Joey, who is the only one not sitting, "Go lock the door."  
  
He does as I say. Almost drunkenly, he dazedly walks back to his seat.  
  
"Try nothing. Die nothing." I continue. "I don't have anything holding me back, so I will not hesitate to shoot anyone if they give me reason to do so."  
  
The class watches my every move. The attention leaves me feeling trapped by all their fearful gazes. I feel a bit vulnerable. I tighten my hold on the gun.  
  
"The teacher will be back at any moment." I speak softly, in order to have the entire group of students strive to catch every word. "So I want all of you to remain completely silent as she comes in."  
  
I turn to Yugi, but take care not to stare into his eyes. "Yugi, come here please."  
  
Joey regains his senses. He looks up at me from his seat, his brown eyes pleading with me.  
  
I embrace Yugi with my free hand. I pull his back to my chest. The gesture would have seemed loving if not for the gun resting behind his head. At the base of the skull, where it meets the neck.  
  
The tri-colored hair boy makes no sound.  
  
A light knock on the door lifts my head. "Okay," I look directly at Joey, "Open the door."  
  
Joey looks at me, horrified. A look that plainly asks 'why?'  
  
Because my name is Ryou Bakura.  
  
And I am only fifteen years old.  
  
Because of what happened two days ago. Which I do not have the time to think about right now.  
  
"Open the door." I repeat. I swear, my yami would be proud if he could hear me with that tone of voice. It matched his almost perfectly.  
  
Another few knocks, they sounded angrier and more insistent.  
  
Joey stands up achingly slow and steps gravely to the door.  
  
"Are you really going to kill me Bakura?" Yugi voices this loudly.  
  
"No." My answer throws off everyone in this room. "But do not force my hand, Yugi."  
  
Joey fingers the locks, then starts to twist them. His hand quivers slightly as he reaches to turn the doorknob.  
  
The door opens. And Yami Bakura steps into the room.  
  
Identical to me. Most members of the class widen their eyes in alarm. His disheveled white hair and wild brown eyes contrasted to my reserved features. Blood stains strands of hair, and a huge bruise melts darkness unto his left cheek. He scans the room, frantically.  
  
His desperate eyes find mine and hold them.  
  
//Ryou. . .//  
  
My name is Ryou Bakura.  
  
I am fifteen years old.  
  
Two days ago, merely two days ago- I don't have time to think about that. That's the whole problem. I don't have any time left.  
  
//Ryou, think this through.// Funny. He doesn't sound angry.  
  
"I have." I say it aloud. Maybe that way it would seem more definite.  
  
//Please,// I don't think I have ever heard him use that word before //Please, aibou// His last word stuns me. Was this really Yami Bakura I was talking to?  
  
//Don't do this.//  
  
"Why?" I feel another insane smile lift my lips. "Why not? I'm going to die anyway."  
  
The class appeared seriously confused along with seriously scared, as they could not hear one side of the conversation. It was quite amusing actually.  
  
"Two days ago, two days ago." I taunted him with the riddle.  
  
//Why are you doing this, aibou?//  
  
"Dying stars go out with flair." Mocking him with what he could not know, could not guess.  
  
His eyes are gentler than I have ever seen them. //Come back to me, aibou. Come back to me.// He opened his arms for an embrace.  
  
Then, three things happen all at once.  
  
Yugi's millennium puzzle starts glowing like mad. I glance down over Yugi's hair.  
  
Yami begins to appear and stares at me in utter disbelief. Several of the students gasp.  
  
As I stand frozen, my yami tackles me to the ground, and slams the gun from my stiff fingers. As the gun spins across the room, I kick, scream, and claw at my yami, hoping to throw him off of me. The gun is two feet away from me. If I could just get a hold of it, it could all end. So I reach for it. My pale fingers stretching from the cold, cold floor. Just a little further and it could be over. Just a little further. Then I receive a quick blow to the head from the heel of Yami Bakura's hand.  
  
As my head reels back and the world spins into confusion, all I can think is one thing:  
  
I have failed.  
  
And I'm still going to die.  
  
Two days ago. Two days ago.  
  
My name is Ryou Bakura.  
  
I am fifteen years old.  
  
Two days ago, at one thirty-three PM, I was in a hospital.  
  
It was there they had diagnosed me with AIDS.  
  
***  
  
*Author speaking*:  
  
I'm pretty sure this idea is overused.  
  
Personally, I have never really attempted suicide, so I wouldn't really know what goes on in a person's mind when one is trying. Sure, I've thought of it, planned it out once, but never went through with it. Never took it farther than the blueprint of my mind.  
  
And no, being diagnosed with AIDS is not the only reason Bakura wants to die. That would be pretty stupid. And pointless. Not to mention boring.  
  
Okay, so I need some feedback. Feedback would be very nice.  
  
Should I write another chapter? Or should I go back to the caves from whence I came and tweak my ears for this dribble? Or you could just say that this was wonderful but never write anything again. I do have more though. I'm in the process of revising it because my stories have a tendency to not make much sense. So I'm fixing it a little. Okay, fine, I'm fixing it a lot. Pretty much rewriting it. Under some heavy construction. Working with expensive and mayhem-causing machinery. Laughing insanely whilst wielding these. Watch yourself. And duck.  
  
One last thing:  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! 


	2. Writhe

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.  
  
Thankies for the reviewers are after the chapter.  
  
***  
  
RECAP: Ryou had botched his own suicide. Ryou had gone slightly insane (Only slightly! Only slightly! Ryou-fangirls get away from me! Aiee!) Ryou was knocked out last chapter from a blow to the head (courtesy of Yami Bakura).  
  
Note to reviewers for chapter one: Thanks are at the end of the chapter.  
  
*Ryou's POV*  
  
Even before I was fully conscious, I could feel it. Seeping into the darker corners of what was left of my sanity. Corruption of my body. Pollution of my soul.  
  
No, please, not again. Not again.  
  
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.  
  
Suppress this. I can beat this. Kill this.  
  
Please.  
  
My eyes fly open with a throat-wrenching sob. I can feel my back arch from a vividly hard floor. Distantly, my mind registers that I'm panting- no, gasping.  
  
I can't hold this in. Overwhelming. Overbearing. All-powerful.  
  
Finally, it flares to life. The hunger.  
  
My veins are exploding. My skin is tightening around my flesh. Bones are burning. Blood searing inside. Air is too heavy to breathe. Can't scream.  
  
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.  
  
Lungs are collapsing. I can hear my pulse. Faster. Faster. Soaked in boiling oil. Thrown into the heat at the heart of the world. Suffocation of sins.  
  
I think I'm crying. My fists clutching air. My teeth will shatter if I keep my jaw clenched much longer. Untamable.  
  
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.  
  
Hatred. As fiery as the agony.  
  
Hate.  
  
Hate.  
  
Hate.  
  
Hate Them.  
  
Hate this.  
  
Hate myself.  
  
Writhe. Struggle.  
  
Falter.  
  
No use. Can't win. It's too much. Hurts too much. Hate's too much.  
  
Overwhelming. Overbearing. All-powerful.  
  
Please.  
  
Just let me die.  
  
Writhe. Black. Fall.  
  
Let me die.  
  
***  
  
Withdrawal.  
  
That's what They told me it was.  
  
They watched me the first time it happened. They waited while I shrieked and tore at invisible demons. They would watch when I clawed at my skin. And when I fell to the floor sobbing after each wave of pain, They would wait for the next roll of agony to possess me. The day it all started. The day I died too many times to count. Over and over. Scream after scream.  
  
When exhaustion would not allow another shriek out of my lungs and I could no longer remember who I was, or if there had ever been a life before the pain, a life without suffering, it was then that They gave me another dose. Another injection of the drug I do not know the name of. A shot to hell.  
  
They told me this would happen again if I didn't take It. This withdrawal. They told me while I lay on the floor, my life rekindling through the poison under my skin. They told me it would hurt even worse if it happened again. The demons brought me down, and they would drag me down further. They told me their price, the money I had to pay to prevent from ever going through that again.  
  
I knew then I was addicted. That I would never be able to get out of it. I would always be Their slave. I would always be Its slave. So when They asked me if I was going to comply with their wishes, to sign myself unto the Devil's contract and buy my "medicine" from Them, I, who had forgotten how to talk, the words to say, I, Ryou, a light to counter the dark, I, the broken tatters of my life strewn upon the ground, I surrendered to all, and I whispered but one word. One croaked, filthy word.  
  
"Yes."  
  
So began my death.  
  
Withdrawal.  
  
***  
  
I know I'm dreaming.  
  
Because there is no way on this god-forsaken earth, that I would ever make these same mistakes again.  
  
That's how I know.  
  
It's a memory.  
  
It's a dream.  
  
Only a dream.  
  
If only it didn't seem so real. It was only a month ago.  
  
Don't scream.  
  
Don't scream. . .  
  
*Flashback*  
  
I kept thinking that this was a really bad idea.  
  
If one added my coordination skills, luck, and a large room full of music and people, one would definitely not be in the vicinity when disaster would inevitably explode.  
  
I was at the Domino high school dance. With my friends. With unbearably loud sounds unidentifiable as music crushing my ears. So after standing one minute with Joey and Tristen under the speakers, I left them to suffer their self-inflicted hearing torture. As I headed towards the refuge of the punch bowl, a familiar face found its way in front of me.  
  
"Hello, Baker." Michael Baker, the son of one of my father's American business friends and dinner-party-visitor to my house on several occasions, smiled at me.  
  
"No need for formalities, Ryou. It's Michael." He grins again.  
  
I couldn't help noticing that he addressed me by my first name, as well. And how unnerving that smile was.  
  
"Nice outfit. It suits you." So says Michael. Personally I don't see myself as different from any other guy. I was wearing a dress shirt and slacks. Like every other guy here. Now, Michael was really starting to scare me.  
  
"Not much of a dancer then?" He asks. That question further proved his unfamiliarity with me. My friends wouldn't have needed to ask. Apparently they didn't need me to have fun at a dance either. I felt a little left out, but so what? Friends were still friends. Even if they forgot about you from time to time.  
  
Right?  
  
I shake my head with a smile of my own. "Not really. I was just going to get some punch, actually, so-"  
  
"Great! I want some too. Let's go." He cut me off before I got the chance to tell him I wanted to be alone for a bit.  
  
We walked over to the punch bowl, and Michael was saying something about moving back to America in a couple of days, but frankly, I didn't care. It wasn't as though we were friends or anything. We were merely accidental acquaintances through my father's line of work. So needless to say, even though I wasn't really listening, I put on a polite smile and nodded my head at intervals. I tried to get the message across, that I something else important to do, by glancing around significantly.  
  
But he just wouldn't stop talking. How in the world could anyone talk for that long about the decorations at a school dance? Apparently Michael could. I was getting anxious to leave now. Yami and Bakura were planning to duel at Yugi's grandfather's gameshop after this, and I had been looking forward to watching it for the better part of a week.  
  
I took another sip of the punch. Okay, let's try this excuse: "Could you excuse me, I have to use the restrooms. I think I drank more punch than I should have."  
  
"Sure. I have to go to." Funny, all he had was a couple of sips. And he was STILL following me. Argh! What was with this guy? Couldn't he take a hint?  
  
I threw away the empty paper cup. Then the world threw itself upwards and I tripped and fell- straight into Michael. Amazingly he caught me. I didn't have much time to think about it though. My stomach was upset. My vision became muffled and the music didn't seem so loud. My stomach started heaving. It was then I realized, quite groggily, that someone must've spiked the punch. Boy, was I stupid.  
  
The scene changed before my eyes, instead of flashing lights, it became dark. Green and black. Grass and street. My mouth opened, and I threw up. All over the green. All over the black. And all over someone's shoes. Couldn't really tell whose. Didn't really care. Throat felt sticky and raw. Bad taste. Stumble. Why won't the earth keep still? I can't stop my mind from spinning, can't think. Can't understand.  
  
The floor lifts from my feet. I think I'm being carried. My mouth fumbles for words. "Wha's'goin'nn?" The words sound slurred, my tongue won't work right. Can't see who answers.  
  
"It's alright. It's okay."  
  
Clogged mind registers voice. Michael? Sidewalk passes by my head. Don't feel too good. Steps. Door. House? Wait- wasn't I supposed to be somewhere else? Or something? Or-  
  
In a room. More voices now. Is that a good thing?  
  
Can see shadows. Blurry faces. Rough hands.  
  
Maybe not so good.  
  
Try to get away. Try to get out. No. No. No.  
  
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.  
  
Arms around me. Smothering. Caging.  
  
Escape.  
  
Hopeless. Too tight. Can't get away. Too cold. Too tired. Too scared. Can't get away. Can't- can't- can't-  
  
Can't breathe.  
  
Cry.  
  
Slump. Limp. Weak.  
  
Surrender.  
  
Give in. Give up.  
  
Mercy.  
  
Mercy.  
  
Pain in arm. Quick. Small. Sharp  
  
Curl in. Curl up.  
  
Hurts. Hurts. Hurts.  
  
Something spreading. Warm. Arm, neck. Melts heat across chest, through legs, trickles into head.  
  
Filling me.  
  
Burning me.  
  
Hurting me.  
  
Don't like this. Don't like this.  
  
Scared.  
  
Want to go home. Always wanting to go home. But-  
  
Alone.  
  
Always and forever.  
  
Head feels light.  
  
Body does too.  
  
Light enough to fly.  
  
Fly home?  
  
Soothing.  
  
Calming.  
  
World falls away.  
  
Falls away.  
  
Perfection.  
  
Feels . . . wonderful. . .  
  
Feels wrong.  
  
This happiness isn't real.  
  
It's eating me alive.  
  
Underneath the white mask.  
  
Underneath my skin.  
  
Fall from heaven. Fall to hell.  
  
Banished from home. Thrown to the earth.  
  
Fly away, angel. Fly away.  
  
/Bakura?/ try, cry, try. /Bakura?/  
  
Save me. Help me.  
  
Love me.  
  
Cry.  
  
Love me.  
  
See me?  
  
Know me?  
  
/Bakura?/  
  
Foggy. Blocked off.  
  
No.  
  
Corrupting warmth in my body. My mind. My soul.  
  
Love me, Bakura.  
  
All the world is falling away.  
  
/Bakura!/ My soul threw itself against the mind barriers.  
  
Alone.  
  
Always and forever.  
  
Drowning in white. Drowning in bright. Starlight. Star bright.  
  
No- don't want- can't-  
  
Love me.  
  
//BAKURA!//  
  
***  
  
*Back to the Present*  
  
Blink.  
  
There's a bright light searing into my eyes. The word "ow" filters through my brain.  
  
Blink.  
  
I can't see. A brilliant, white illumination surrounds me and starts to seep into my skin. I can't help thinking that I might be dead. Was it too much to hope for?  
  
Blink.  
  
I can breathe now. Cool and rich gulps of air. Dulls the ache in my head. Fades the soreness of my body. But it'll be back. The pain will always be back.  
  
My eyes start to water as I try to focus them. Strain to catch a glimpse of whatever may be happening to me. I get my wish.  
  
Blink.  
  
/Bakura?/  
  
//Ryou. . .// His voice is so soft. So gentle.  
  
/Bakura? You're bleeding./  
  
And so he was. One side of his face had a deep gouge in the side of it. I lift a hand from the bed I was lying on. He's sitting so close to me, my fingers reach for the wound. I falter, and draw my hand back to my side. The blood trickles down his neck and stains his shirt.  
  
Something like a chuckle escapes him, but turns into a clenched sob.  
  
Don't cry, darkness. Don't cry.  
  
His pale fingers come to the side of my face to caress a strand of my hair.  
  
I've never seen a person cry with no tears.  
  
Another suppressed sob.  
  
And then you do something I thought you would never be able to do.  
  
Your arms envelope me. An embrace far more gentle than feathers drifting.  
  
I close my eyes. If this isn't real- if this is all just another cruel nightmare-  
  
//Ryou. . .//  
  
At the sound of your voice calling within me, I don't care if this is an unreality. I'm so hollow. So colorless. So wretchedly empty.  
  
And all I care about is you.  
  
I don't move.  
  
All I could expect was death.  
  
I can't move.  
  
All I wanted was death.  
  
I try to hold on to you. I try to escape the dark weighing me down. But I'm trapped. Death has claimed me for its own, and I won't ever escape agony's clutches.  
  
Don't let me go. Don't let me go.  
  
And then. . .  
  
No, not again. Not again. Not now. Not with him.  
  
Cry again. Die again. No.  
  
Hunger. Violent and awake. Starved and enraged. It turns on to full blast.  
  
I can't breathe anymore.  
  
I don't want to breathe anymore.  
  
Scream. Scream. Scream.  
  
I'll never be free of it.  
  
//Ryou? Ryou!//  
  
Your voice is fading. Don't let me go. Don't let me fall.  
  
Save me Bakura. Save me from myself.  
  
I can't see your face.  
  
Scream.  
  
Writhe. Struggle. Fight.  
  
My insides explode but my skin constricts. My world has fallen. There's no going back.  
  
I'm on fire. I'm on ice.  
  
I can't feel my hands as I claw at my face. I can't feel the bruises my thrashing body is inflicting upon itself. I can't feel my body contort and twist unnaturally.  
  
But I can feel you.  
  
You're holding me down. Hands on my wrists keep my fingernails from ripping away my skin. A heavy weight on my body keeps me from struggling. You're holding me to life.  
  
You're holding me to pain.  
  
Scream.  
  
After scream.  
  
After scream.  
  
Save me Bakura. Save me.  
  
/Kill me now/ I send to you.  
  
/Please. . ./ I can't feel my tears, but I know I'm crying. /Set me free, Bakura/  
  
I can't see your face.  
  
I feel a sudden jerk on my neck.  
  
A last flash of searing pain, and then. . . this.  
  
Is this release? Fade to white.  
  
Am I free?  
  
Fly away. Fly away.  
  
Love you, Bakura.  
  
Fly away.  
  
***  
  
Author again.  
  
Yes, I am aware that most of my reviewers are going to kill me for the ending of this chapter. Such an evil cliffhanger.  
  
I would have written more but I wanted to get this posted as soon as possible. I'll get the next chapter up if I get any reviews. If I don't (by the way, this *is* a threat. At least, I hope it is.) I won't post the next chapter because what would be the point of taking the time to put it on the internet if no one likes it enough to review? Which reminds me. . .  
  
Reviewers:  
  
To Reaper from Heaven- Thank you for reviewing, honored First Reviewer. Yes, I like switching things around. Its fun throwing the world into chaos. I should do it more often, yes?  
  
To Jeti- Thank you so much for letting me decide whether or not I could write another chapter. It's nice when I'm free enough to make my own choices. And I'm terribly glad you liked it.  
  
To Lightning Sage- (Death_Cry stares at your review, eyes wide) I can't believe you like it so much! (Squeal) *I* can't help but be amazed. Wow. I mean. . . well, wow.  
  
To Bakura Fan- Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Did everyone hear that? I'm on a favorite's list! (Death_Cry runs around the room dancing and knocks over a table, two chairs, and a lampshade before deciding that perhaps dancing is not the best thing for her to be attempting) Glad you liked it. Even happier that you put me on a favorite stories list! (Squeal and the sound of shattering glass can be heard)  
  
To Rlenavampyre14- I'm like that too, except I wear red when I'm happy and smile when I'm sad. Thanks for reviewing. See? I posted another chapter, aren't you proud of me? Email me. I found a picture to send to you. Actually, a whole treasure trove of pictures.  
  
To Evil- (Death_Cry bows) Thank you for reviewing, kind stranger. Unfortunately, you are going to have to wait until the next chapter to see if Ryou dies or not. Which also reminds me. . .  
  
So, the big question: Did Ryou die?  
  
But I'm a real big softie. How could I murder such an adorable character? I'd rather have him suffer. (Demonic grin)  
  
Besides, how would I write the next chapter without him? It *is*, after all, written in his point of view. . . 


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